Scorched Inamorati
by JrOeKnEeRe
Summary: We had no purpose until you were found. You belonged to both of us. The unbroken inamorati. But you were free & so belonged to neither. You loved, hated & died because we couldn't stay away. But you're here with me now & he cannot have you. PeterxOCxSylar
1. Volume 1: Melted

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**Scorched Inamorati**

Heroes

Peter Petrelli . Sylar Gabriel Gray

_**Volume 1**_

_**Melted**_

Going too far to make the reflection last will pull you into its depths. But she leaned too far into the interruption and fell.

His dark brown gaze and black hair contrasted deeply with his light skin. Lips formed into a crooked smile. She didn't know where his face had come from, she had never met him before or even passed him on the street. She would have remembered. And yet he had crept into her dreams every night. The leading man, the rescuer, the hero, the villain. His very face would elate her, lingering in the mornings with his features etched behind her lids. The only evidence was the name he called himself each night. A name which only dreaming would allow.

Walking the busy streets of the city, she stopped to admire one such building. Losing her awareness through its height until the mere sight of fire scorched the full view. Along with shrieking screams bringing even more awareness of the actual situation. This was a building. In flames. The screaming retained the air louder and louder. She watched but wasn't at all mesmerized by its beauty like the others standing next to her. She felt the black consume the color, her head down so no one would notice her frightening gaze. There was only one way to rid of it. She broke into the building. Toward the screaming.

The smoky sulfur ran over her bod like thick porridge as she came through the door. The stairs to the top floor collapsed in flame.

The blaze smoldered as she ascended them two at a time. Without opening, she fazed through, entering the room where a group of business men and women were trapped, almost dead from asphyxiation. They looked to her, burning for their savior. They stood to follow and did so along the halls.

Their eyes no longer burnt. Their lungs no longer filled with smoke. No longer could they feel the heat. The only thing they felt was the warmth of a hand in their own. They descended the back staircase.

The blackness burned with such intensity that it surpassed the flames and her feet glided across the floor like velvet ice. She opened the door and the group went through. The men in uniform, whom a few moments ago thought the peoples fate was sealed, now rushed to their sides astonished by their escape. But when they looked for the hero, she was nowhere to be found.

She sulked to her knees. If anyone spoke or caught sight of her angelic gifts and went to the media, telling them what she looked like, she would be ruined.

Away from the smoldering and rumbling she tried to breathe, to let the smoke go but she stopped. The dark gaze, raven locks, all she's only ever dreamed of now blocked the way. The man who overpowered her nights with his presence was standing right before her.

"What's going on over there?" he looked over her steaming clothes and heavy breath.

"There was a fire," a mute could surely beat this volume. He peered to the sky as though he was just now noticing the darkened air.

Before anything, a smile formed. It was nothing she had ever believed. It was more of a glimmer of light peeking out from the corner of his mouth. She couldn't respond. A man she had never seen before yet dreamed of countless nights. She feared this was another part of her gift. Another evil to her curse. She tried to get around him but he grabbed her hard.

"Do you not recognize me Lynée? This face hasn't changed in all those nights we've spent together. I couldn't say who I was. But such a name as _Peter _wouldn't satisfy your need to believe and dream more. Perhaps the name _Lucius _might bring recognition?"

She was nervous, so nervous by his touch as to lose ground. His breathing nearly shook as well. He let go of her arm, seeing the familiarity that her own breathing halted completely.

"My name?" his name, his _names_, she knew him.

"Those dreams affect you greatly don't they?"

"How?" such a simple word brought the most awkward unveiling.

He stopped, glanced over his shoulder in an almost fearful spite. "We need to leave."

She didn't move as his eyes clouded over in a lifeless haze. She wanted to run but couldn't. She needed to know more. He was like her. He was special. No matter the fear she felt. The ground disappeared, the air closed and the colors poured in vibrantly. They formed in waves until mastering the appearance of an apartment room.

Right then, a sharp and tightening spike of pain swarmed her insides. She bent over and clutched hard.

"I know, it will end soon," she could barely hear him but knew he held her still, guiding her by only the traction of his chest until she was set on a mattress. She clenched the plush blankets even harder than her stomach.

He watched silently as she did so. Never had he witnessed the fight against the feeling, apart from his first time of transporting. The new ability only first came to him 14 months ago but it advanced so far as to allow this. Entering her dreams each night was his only purpose the past year. It was something more meaningful than anything he had ever pursued but he took the dreams too far. He had long since fallen deeply. But now, this held no such concern as _he _did. The one person who had already taken everything: Sylar.

_a/n_

_Written with my best friend who first morphed her middle name with my name to create such a character as to inspire this story._

_This is mainly a Peter & Sylar saga in an Alternate Universe._

_Also, we know Heroes is pretty old and not many people are into their fanfic anymore but we made this when Heroes was in its golden years so at least it's out here right?_


	2. Volume 2: Unbroken

_**.**_

_**Volume 2**_

_**Unbroken**_

Once brothers to the same cause, they now live in a world where there is no unity. They've long since hated what they've fought for but now, its memory has strengthened into a completely new form.

Despite the still turbulence feeling of her stomach, she peered above the sheets as quietly as she could. This man, Peter, was staring but his mind was clearly clouded by something else. He was concerned and his breath was heavy with mourning. Every time he breathed, the air soaked its remorse out of pity.

This was a dark old room. Its heavy red walls were sagging. The wallpaper peeled off the four corners in strips and the lonely gold floor lamp was standing by the bed. Its shade was dusty and tilting to one side, shining a light just on the two of them.

She said it before she could understand how. "Who are you?"

He jumped from his chair with more pounce than he probably wanted, staring fully upon her now. "I've already told you who I am. Why do not understand?" impatience nearly slaughtered each word but as soon as he heard it, he sat as softly as he could by the ends of her feet. Only to be met by a reasonable response.

"_Understand_? How can I understand? You've done something to me that I will never understand!" she was panicking, yelling without formulating logic. Whipping the covers off her body, standing with recovered authority and almost collapsing to the ground again but was soon caught. She breathed deep, clinging to his strong arms.

"Sit down," he leaned her backwards. She was hesitant but met the plush blankets nonetheless. He took her face in his warm hands and stared. "You know me," more patience added. "Think about the dreams."

"How do you know about that?"

He smiled and edged closer. She flashed one look to the dangerously small space between them but could do nothing. "I gave you them," he left her face frozen and went for her hands instead. They overlapped each other as he raised them closer to his chest. The instant she felt the sound beats beneath her skin and his shirt, loud screams echoed through the thin apartment wall. He dropped her hands, stood in full alert and kept a strong stance. She looked to him, not knowing whether she should do so herself but stayed as he closed his eyes tightly. Almost in a long, knowing blink.

"Sylar," he breathed hard before grabbing hold of her, much tighter, so tight as to slow both beat and breath. The door slammed open, cracking the walls with a splintering shriek. And there stood a tall, lean man with a shadowed stare.

"I've found you," his voice was so deep, so familiar yet it was directed to her.

How could these two men hold such similarities yet wear completely different expressions? Both were full of fury and hate but Peter's was something else. Was it fear or bravery? Sylar took one step. Instinctively, Lynée tried to step away herself but Peter held her still.

"How did you find us?" Peter spoke through grit and scorn.

"We're past that," he stepped closer again only to be met by Peter's hand raised with an encircling sapphire glow of light. With his other, he pushed Lynée behind him.

"Don't do that," Sylar was fixated on the move. Soon, setting his own hand aflame with hot orange escalating along his forearm. Peter could hardly see the golden flame before it hit his chest, sending him across the room. Lynée cowered back, nearly tripping over something unseen. But even before she could look his way, Peter was up and more than ready to fight.

Electric blue sparks shot out like two hot spherical bullets. Peter lunged towards him. His fists crashing deep into Sylar's jaw. He stumbled aside, dark grueling blood and saliva spewing from his broken face. He slapped it away from his lip, a smile still present among a mouth full of crusted teeth. He was enjoying this, sadistically so.

They swung across the room with miraculous strength, hitting the walls, crumbling to the floor along with plaster and dust. Peter stood, a glaze running over his eyes as he slowly raised his hands once again. But the effect was slightly different. The window behind shattered and the jagged pieces flew straight past Lynée and into Sylar. A thousand tiny shards struck his body. He flew back from its force but was given no chance to recover. Peter summoned the telekinetic feat to finally throw Sylar's torn bod through the window.

Lynée moved with him as though the feat reached for her as well but was stopped by Peter. His eyes changed from the sheer veil to the lifeless layer she had first known.

"Hold on to me," he grabbed her waist before she could. And then, they were gone.

Below, Sylar lay, sprawled dangerously across the alley ground. He rolled to his side, sweat pouring onto the cold pavement. Clutching his pounding head with bruised hands. He lost her again. Every time, he's with her, every time, making him more and more angry and desperate. He raised his head slowly to see the damage, blood still dripping over his lips, along his chiseled jaw. Glass shards resided within his skin, causing each movement to hurt even more than the last. He moaned in pain as they removed themselves from each peel, falling along his soaked shirt. He struggled but finally tore the material for his glistening chest to breathe. The glass fell, leaving only dried blood in place of the wounds.

This will end.

He closed his surroundings and focused on nothing but her. The details of her face, eyes, skin, hair, he's seen her close now, it will be easier to locate. It's taken him years to learn what it was he felt. It may have been the sanity that was losing. Collecting powers, killing hundreds to gain what he wanted. But he now understood why. The moment he felt her existence, everything changed. He urgently needed to be with her, now.

This won't happen again.

_a/n_

_There's a DeviantArt banner for Peter on profile page under this story section, very bottom haha. I'll do a Sylar one for the next chapter. I only got around to Peter, so sorry =)_


	3. Volume 3: Inamorati

_**.**_

_**Volume 3**_

_**Inamorati**_

The ground lay bare with long, untrimmed grass, a well kept garden bordered the area and a tall, vine-infested sign that read Central Park. He leaned back, losing balance against an old picnic table from behind. She stood before him, arms held out awkwardly as though she meant to catch him before he did so.

"It's okay, I'm fine. Are _you_ alright?"

"Am _I _alright?"

He smiled despite the pain and leaned further into the table. There was nothing wrong with it. He was hurting and she knew of how. So she brushed her hand against his wet shirt to see where the wounds were. Glass may not have been plunged into him yet the previous packing sounds and cracking blows meant there were obvious cuts.

"There's no need. I'm a quick healer," he clasped her hand, stopping the further investigation. His breathing lightened but was left with a cold chill in place. Spreading through his hand, arm, eventually everything else connected. He knew of it yet couldn't say yet, to her.

She watched him lose focus, unsure of what he was doing. But as soon as she met his gaze, some sort of courage was gained. "You're in pain, let me help you."

"How?"

She didn't expected such a response but kept going. "You may know of who I am, but clearly not everything," she moved over the tender areas. An unseen medicine reached far, healing every bruise and sore without a hint of him feeling it.

She let go. He looked over his chest in an almost proud gesture, like he knew what would happen. They were gone. The dreams have hidden her true self from him but this, this was real. He could reach out and touch her without the barrier of a dream but there was also fear, genuine fear. And it was written upon her face. She looked to her hand, this wasn't right. It's never felt like this before. A suffocating sensation lingered within the bones and veins. Before she could close a fist, he covered his own on top.

"There's something you need to know," he smoothed beneath both. "I know what you feel, when you did that. I feel it too, stronger than yours. I can't tell you what it is only why it's happening. We're something you may not understand. You already know we're different. People with special abilities. But you and I are something beyond that, something else," he paused, struggling almost. "You are my inamorati."

She didn't say anything, didn't move, didn't breathe until he took a breath himself.

"It's not something you can define but it's similar to a term I'd rather not say. But if it's the only way you can understand, then soul mate will be all too familiar to match. I know what that sounds like, it's not something I ever believed in. But now that I've," he slyly lifted himself from the table, rubbing his brow. "It's possible," his gaze held elsewhere. "This is why Sylar is after us. He thinks you're his. I've watched him, tried to keep him away but he's grown desperate. I've put myself in your dreams for this very reason. To protect you from him each night. But from doing that, something happened-"

He stopped, scanning the park with a suspicious gaze. She didn't wait this time. "That man who attacked us, Sylar, he was there for me?"

"Yes."

"And I'm his inamorati?"

"No," he spun on his heel, nearly slamming into her legs if he hadn't stopped soon after. One breath. "There's a doctor, an evolutionary scientist, Dr. Suresh who made another theory. Out of all of us who have gifts, there is one who is different and more unique. One more powerful, stronger than any of us put together. One that is able to have two. You, Lynée, you're believed to be this one but you're not. "

She already knew of the answer.

"Because you only have one."

"You?" she whispered. He nodded, pushing further, closing the conspicuous gap. The softness of their skin pressed together consumed the minds of both. The heat steadily grew into a blaze that seemed to pour over every nerve, searing them together. Lynée felt his hand lightly touch the back of her neck, his long fingers weaving into her hair while she reached up and ran her own across his face. They were close. So close as to threaten a kiss but it never came.

He might have entered her dreams for protection but something much stronger brought him there. She felt it, he knew it.

. . .

Sylar walked onto the bustling street, his pants loose and torn, his chest bare, smeared with drying blood. The pedestrians walked wide around him with questioning looks. But no one stopped to ask if he was okay. Either out of fear or suspicion.

The no-walking light blinked vigorously but he stepped out anyway. A yellow cab blared on the horn. The driver cursing the foolish action with enthusiasm. Sylar simply turned to him, ready to crush the man's skull with the growing force bubbling inside but a stern hand touched his shoulder.

"Excuse me son, you look a little lost."

Right on time. "Yes officer, as a matter of fact I am."

He followed the masculine policeman lead him to the patrol car where his partner sat drinking from a Styrofoam cup filled with steaming black coffee. He gave a short start at the sight of this man, shirtless and seemingly disoriented, as his partner let him lean against their cruiser.

"Now tell me," he was slightly overweight but with a clear countenance. The other one was sized perfectly however, he'll do fine. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, more than you know," Sylar dug deep into his mind. "You will put me in the back, get in the car and drive to the alleyway off Market Street," his pupils stretched and recoiled as he controlled the minds of both men now.

Soon, the dazed officers pulled into a secluded alley, far from people and far from safety. "Get out," he slammed the back door and waited for them to do so. They already were. "Now you," he said to the one who was drinking from the cup. "Take off your uniform. And you, I have no need for you." He tilted his head, a bolt of electricity cracked from his palm, shooting a hole though his chest.

Sylar pulled the blue brimmed hat over his head as he adjusted the mirror, soon backing out of the ally without once glancing upon the two smoldering policemen he left behind.


	4. Volume 4: Dangerous Ground

_**.**_

_**Volume 4 **_

_**Dangerous Ground**_

This breaking, splitting, exhausting form of a run has taken everything she could give. He's been looking for the right path since her breathing first turned to a poisonous supplement. "Peter!" this needed to end. Her lungs felt like they were solidifying.

"We can't stop! He's close," his grip tightened but he contradicted himself and came to a halt, she plunged into his back as a result. It didn't faze either. One was grateful for such an opportunity while the other was ready to liquify himself into a cage to keep both behind. She rest down on her knees, flexing her sore hand.

"I'm sorry. But if we stay in one place- I just-" Lynée stood, knowing this little rest was far from lasting but as she did so, he forced a hard gander and said. "I can't take the risk of losing you."

Too soon had he spoken.

A police cruiser rammed through the trees, skidding to a stop a few feet from where they stood. Dirt flew from the tires like small bombs. The headlights blinded. A policeman then stepped out, tipping his hat up to get a better look at the couple before him.

Peter forced an immediate glance upon his walk. The confident glide? Proud stagger? So familiar yet there was no seeing past the worn uniform and shadowed hat.

She didn't notice the physicality. There was something deeper she didn't understand. There was something off about him. The sound of his heart. Each thump held a different rhythm, like it was speeding then slowing at the same time. Medically impossible.

He stood before them. Smirking beneath. "Did you think I wouldn't find you? That I would let you do this without any consequence?" the hat fell to the grass where Sylar then ruffled his hair into a chaotic pile of thick black strands. Peter removed his arm, slowly readying to push her behind once again. But she wasn't ready.

What is this? What do these men want with her? And why was their only purpose about finding her? Why are they doing this!

She spun from his grasp, avoiding any effort to bring her straight back. She wanted to know why, she wanted to know what this was, why she was so important to them, so she stood between. Forgetting that this Sylar was currently the villain and that he could tear her away just by twitching one heavy eyelid below such perfectly defined brows. She held her hands out as though to stop their intentions. It would have seemed childish if it wasn't at all useful. She could stop them, in fact she laid out two fields between, invisible to each. But it won't stop one from consuming his hand in flames while the other's blue spheres illuminated brighter.

"Stop! You can't do this again. Just please stop. Why are you here? What do you want?"

Sylar simply stared. A mixture rarely seen in his gaze. Something between a passionate strain and fierce hate. Peter saw and he knew what it meant but remained still. No matter what he wanted to do, what he needed to do, Sylar would recover. But just the thought of hurting him brought relief. Lynée stared deep into Sylar as he did into her. If he believes she's his inamorati, then there must be something she could do to stop another repeat of last time. A way to understand everything.

"Sylar," she whispered as gently and caring as she could. His name felt so foreign on her tongue yet held disturbing familiarity. He was still on her, a distant look however as the blue flames made his brown stare even more mysterious and dark. And then she said it. "Please, leave us alone."

Never should she have said _us_. Maybe _me _but never, under any circumstance, should she have entailed her and Peter against him. He was not only even more outraged in that moment buthe knew exactly what he was going to do about such a feeling. In contrary, he appeared perfectly calm with a smile as genuine as crystal. Lifting his hand to her cheek, they were too close, she shouldn't be this close. Lynée gasped. A searing cold sensation was left, almost like a layer of frost had collected against her cheek. He lowered his hand, piercing a firm gaze upon his fist, confronting the same sensation she was. The first time he's ever gotten close enough to touch her. The effect was blinding. He didn't notice Peter behind them, motioning her to him with movement and silence. Why he didn't just grab her then meant his intelligence was marked worst than Sylar had thought.

Faster than any cobra's dreamed existence, Sylar grabbed her upper arm, slammed her against his chest so hard as to restrict the sharp intake of breath and laughed.

A desperate laugh that curled beneath his lips. "Now you'll know how it feels," he crouched close to the ground before shooting to the air like a spring, a flight much faster than Peter could follow.

He was stronger.

It felt as though each gust took its nails and tore at her scalp and face, they were going so fast. No bird, no plane obstructed their path. Soon, without slowing, they landed on earth. Perfectly fine, unscathed, unmarked, Lynée stood there unable to move from shock. Sylar before her. She couldn't let go, could't move willingly without help. And he seemed to know she couldn't and did so himself as though she were burning hot.

There was no way for her to escape. And there was no way he could remain so close to her. He walked towards a cave-like structure, reaching a rock thick enough to sit upon. Lynée merely watched him with panic, unable to think of anything besides what happened. Besides Peter. Could he have done something? Or was he entirely matched against this man? She was no longer in his protection, no longer by his side and this hurt knowing what it would require from her. Sylar remained on the rock, looking to the azure sky seemingly ignorant of her presence.

On a high steep rock face about a few hundred feet from the desert ground below. On the back side of the cliff was a wall climbing even higher then the cliff, making the mountain some sort of stair step for the gods. In the corner that Sylar inhabited was a small overhang. A miniature cave framed above him like the ends of a halo. There were miles upon miles of nothing. The horizon stretched in a pencil line on a giant slate of parchment. Towering pillars of rocks pushed their way through the soil, dotting the red sandy ground. Arizona? She moved closer to its landscape as though it wasn't enough to understand.

These were the bright dead colors of Arizona. Its red, orange and yellow assaulted her senses. All she could see was cacti, dirt and mountains. This was a nightmare, beautiful and horrifying. And like a nightmare she wanted it to end but couldn't sacrifice the dream for fear of missing the finale.

"Don't do that," his voice pierced any thought. She jumped to the sound, her foot missing the edge. Before she could even begin to fall, he was by her side, tucking her neatly by his own. He meant to speak but she didn't let him.

"Get away from me!" and retreated until her back met the rocks. Not even the sudden escalade of stings against her spine could, for one moment, let her forget who she was with let alone how she could prevent what he was about to do.


	5. Volume 5: This Hunger

_**.**_

_**Volume 5**_

_**This Hunger**_

If she could just press harder, maybe the rock could move, maybe she could dissolve deep into its structure, far from his reach. But she couldn't because he had her. He had her restrained between the rocks with either sides blocked by pillars. His grip was too close, too strong and constricting that if he held her much longer, her bones could crack. She screamed. Not in pain, not in anger but in frustration. Maybe some pain. Alright, a lot of pain!

He let go. Faster than he had before.

"What do you want!" she screamed, massaging the bleak tenderness. Sucking on the ends of the warm sweat baking her already flushed face.

He merely stared, no expression, no words. That was enough. She had enough. There were no answers and no one was going to change that for her. She launched herself, emitting everything she could to take him down. If he wasn't going to tell her what she wanted, might as well use force. He did. Both tumbled over the hard surface, rolling across the pebbles. She punched him, hard enough to plunge his jaw into the adjacent dirt, her hand enriched with a blinding purple flame. She collected another blow but was rolled over and pinned beneath his control. Her hands were coerced as well, away from their fight.

"Enough," he looked to the still glow with an almost proud knowing, just as Peter had once done. However now, thick burgundy flames gathered around her pupils. And his own grip was soon drenched in the same blaze dominating her green sight.

But what she had hoped would happen, didn't.

Sylar kept his hands where they were, not even twitching in the slightest. He grinned with that annoying pride she knew nothing about, dropping his entire weight on her. He wasn't in pain, this didn't effect him at all.

"That wasn't very nice Lynée," he says. "You of all people should understand things don't work out like you planned them to."

She heaved dryly, receiving as much air as she could. There were none. "What do you mean?"

"Aw," Sylar hovered over her face, inching closer by her lips before briskly leaning away as he explored more of her features. "Did your Peter not tell you? Well, let me clarify. _I _am the one he mistakenly claims _he_ is. He's lied because he can't handle the fact that _I_ am your- what did that doctor so naively call it? Inamorati? Ah, so you know what I mean now. I can see it in your beautifully flame-infested scorn. _And _by being so, you can never hurt me. Even with all of those wonderful gifts you possess, not one of them can do even the smallest damage. I can see those gifts as clear as I'm looking at you now. They're beautiful."

He flipped her again. Her now above him while he lay comfortably below, arms tightly wrapped but more slack was given. Just enough to ease. She could only stare, unable to look anywhere else. But then she said what might have ruined it all.

"Then why is it you can hurt me?" she whispered.

And he said what saved it all.

"When have I ever hurt you?"

Not moments ago, her arm would have been crushed from his touch but wasn't. Her body would have been torn below the cliff's edge but he stopped her. He stopped himself yet tore her from her life. From Peter.

The day in the apartment. They fought, and then? Nothing. He was gone. In Central Park, what happened? Nothing. He only grabbed her and flew away. From New York to Arizona in less than a minute. No one could ever survive that kind of speed. But they did because he was with her. He had only ever hurt Peter yet she felt his pain as if it were her own.

"Maybe you've never hurt me personally," she disclosed, such an adamant verbiage. "But how many other lives have you ruined?" The words, spat like heated acid, went through Sylar with more harm than he expected. There was no answer. He pushed her clear off and stood, leaving her to the sand and dirt in quick pace, nearly frozen from how fast he moved.

He towered in a superior stance, dramatically pointing to her, still on the ground, with rocks pressing against her palms.

"You don't understand!" he took two quick steps forward. She wanted to retreat but couldn't. His gaze...

Sadness, regret, torture? What is this?

He collapsed to his knees, between her spread legs. Her heart raced. But he took no notice to the sexual tension.

"This hunger, it's too much. It's eating me up inside. This never ending need to kill, to feed on their powers. To consume," he buried his head tightly between his trembling hands. Trembling? Is this an act? He didn't seem like one to show real emotion. She didn't want to help, didn't want to show pity, yet there was a daring urge to reach for him. The powers he's taken has finally finished its course. No one can control that much power, not one man. And she knew what wreaked beneath his mind, what he couldn't fight, the abilities, the collection.

He met her own battling gaze now and saw its struggle. Like she wanted to comfort him yet strangle him at the same time. But he couldn't help himself. He reached for her yet stopped and formed a fist instead.

"And when I'm with you," he let the grip stretch into nothing more than a mere stroke over her face. It was gone faster than anything she's yet seen. "That hunger goes away. I feel like I did before all of this started. Before I was taken by its need. Its desire. And I won't let that go. Ever."

She looked away, knowing he meant her.

Some unfaithful tear revealed itself, dripping from her skin onto his battered hand. She choked, wanting to avoid what was in front of her but he didn't want that. He took her chin and said the one thing that made it much worst.

"You're beautiful to me."

_a/n_

_I know right? Where's that Sylar deviantart you promised us? Maybe next time. For now, suffer xD_


	6. Volume 6: Indirect Consumption

_**.**_

_**Volume 6**_

_**Indirect Consumption**_

The splitting pop cracked Sylar's perception. Echoing through the whole terrain, nearly bleeding his ability into its initial strength. But it was too late. Too late to make sense of her change, the change in her gaze, the pity, sympathy and dare he say it, care? They were discovered. Slid her right from his reach, took her in his arms and melted into Arizona skies. A small, circular cloud of dust was the only last remnant. Sylar, still on his knees, kept his gaze on it. Unable to find the naivety of the movement, he waved over the area, nothing stopped him from moving through. She was gone just when we had her. Just when he could make her understand.

He knew he could fly faster than Peter but with her influence and his distress, he lost all traces of which direction they had gone. For now, he closed it tight and lingered on her, just a little longer.

They landed. She backed away, incapable of finding mind. He watched her, restrained his touch but didn't hold still, he reached, smoothing her small waves only for them to spring back into mild temptation. She looked into him then, lost and different. Back and forth, back and forth, when will this end? Do they not understand what they're doing to her? She felt something for him, something difficult, but now, after what Sylar had said, had done, she couldn't see. In that short moment, that one tear, that one look, she had felt for Sylar, not as strong, but still in existence.

He saw. "No Lynée, no. He was lying, deceiving you. That's what he does-"

"You said it yourself Peter. _Two_. I felt it- I saw it- the way he was with me- I need to understand what's happening. Please-"

"I love you," he breathed. Never mentioned, hinted nor spoken. The realm of dreams could hide the meaning but not here. "Every night, every dream, I shouldn't have kept you. I shouldn't have kept coming back to you. But I did. And I lost control. Please, please accept what this is, accept what we are. Let me fight for us-"

…

Peter stomped the concrete, dismissing their desire for flight. Especially with these pedestrians around. The crowd of Phoenix. They moved out of her way before she even passed them. All glanced to her in fascination from the norm, watching her race through their path to work or home. But once they turned, another trampled through soon after in his own hurry. To reach her.

She stopped. Finding it just before the entrance of an alley. No one was in there. Perfect. Only a few walked by, ignorant to its out-of-date presence. Everyone had cell phones, no one used it anymore. But it was there. She listened to Peter's slowing steps. It was way too hot to be running. The sun's rays shined down upon the city, making a hot mess of the inhabitants.

Peter reached for her shoulder but she started again before he could close tight. This one thing was going to finalize the answers. Nearly slammed into it if she hadn't placed her palms into the glass first. The phone booth. She slid the doors open, stepped in and dialed the wet telephone.

He almost bumped into it as well but knocked softly instead, she didn't look. He merely sighed and opened the door again without noticing the obvious tiny space. He entered, their heat already fogging the glass.

This is it. She just needed to organize her thoughts into understanding words.

"Hello?"

"H-hello," easy. "My name is Lynée-" a last name. She needed a new last name. Now. "Black. Lynée Black." Peter elbowed a corner, cradling it softly before taking small mind to the acute relationship between colors black, and gray. "I'm a friend of Peter, Petrelli?- Yes. That's right, I was wondering if we could come see you?- I don't have an appointment if that's what you're implying but I need your help- You see I have these, abilities, much like Peter, but this isn't about that. Well, not completely-" slower.

"Yes- Thank you so much, we'll be there as soon as we can. I- Right, I'll have Peter fly us over. Thank you Dr. Suresh," she slammed it down with pride and relief. Didn't even mind the sharp inhale from him as she barged out of the booth, leaving him squished behind. But soon followed after.

She held her hand to him, thinking he would grab onto her and take off. But he didn't move.

"I can't do this without understanding Peter. I need help and Dr. Suresh can answer what you can't. What you won't."

That sounded a little harsh. But he wanted to fix her pain. He'd take her to him, it wouldn't hurt. Especially since he already knew the truth. He's hers and that's it. But she needed to hear it from someone else. Someone who could explain better than him. Which Mohinder could do.

_a/n_

_Yes this is very much short which is why I'm going to be adding 7 right after this one. Yes, I know, I'm a nice one =P_

_oooh..._

_Sylar.. art.. Sylar deviantart? You've all, maybe, seen the Peter one, but for Sylar, let's just say I went a little crazy on his. Think of it as a thank you gift for sticking with this story, and reading all the way to here. I thank you. A lot. _

_Will be on profile._

_Also, am very surprised by all of whom have either story alerted or favorited this, that was epic I must say. So thanks to all of you! Especially for those who reviewed or for those just reading.. You make me smile. A lot._


	7. Volume 7: Direct Breakdown

_**.**_

_**Volume 7**_

_**Direct Breakdown**_

Southern California.

A long, white building was the only landscape that took hold, everything else seemed less important. Its shining tinted windows reached around the structure. The glare was bright. Too bright as to take the concrete's notice instead. She slowed but Peter kept her close, tugging towards the entrance. He was upset, she hurt him and she knew that. But she needed help. A sculpture in the foyer twisted high to the ceiling shards of glass and metal intertwined, gnarled and rough, creating the atoms coiled into the double helix. Even its beauty didn't spark interest.

They went through the front desk, disregarded the various guards and security checks. They just simply, strolled through. No one stopped them, they entered the office as though everyone there was expecting their presence. But only one knew. Peter turned the knob and glided in, Lynée tripping behind him.

Mohinder looked from his papers, pulling his glasses down to his nose so he could see the two figures clearer. His shaggy hair hung thick over his ears, jet black spreading over his crown in waves. His gold caramel skin softly stretched over his sharp Indian features.

"You made it."

He strolled over, took Peter's hand in his, shook it quickly and switched right over to hers. His focus on her, rather, since they entered. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm so happy you're here. Where were you when you called?" he zoomed back to his computer and typed last minute thoughts with practiced speed.

"Phoenix," Peter answered. Lynée, feeling a shyness creep, was astounded by the ratio of his laboratory. Mohinder smiled, watching her intently while still conversing with Peter.

"I see your powers have improved. You'll be flying faster than light by the time you're in your forties I bet," he took his glasses off and placed them by an empty jar. "Now, Miss Black, could you take a seat here please?"

She let go of Peter, not quite sure how long or how tight she clung to him, and slowly did so, admiring the test tubes. The seat was warm, yet foreign and loud. "Hold out your arm so I may take your blood pressure," he ushered her into movement with an anxious grab to the device.

She divided her arm from its glued position and let him wrap the monitor. "I didn't come here for a checkup," she smiled timidly. Mohinder raised his watch and stared. "I need your help-"

"Yes, you told me. Something that relates to your ability but then again it _doesn't_," he undid the Velcro and leaned upon the stool, staring a moment longer before saying. "You know, there's a trick to checking blood pressure that us doctors don't tell. As we take it, we also check your breathing. Watching your chest rise and fall, counting each one on the dial. It's imperative we don't tell the patient we're doing so because they get nervous and don't breathe normally. But even doing that didn't steady _your_ breathing. It's irregular and inconsistent. So, whatever this is, please don't lie and tell me why you are here. You can trust me-"

"He told me you wrote a theory about Inamorati," she restrained her tongue, slow down. He dropped her hand and straightened. But she didn't. It came out so fast even she couldn't understand. But he did by his stature. "You're the only one who knows- who can help me. I-"

"You?" he blindly reached for a notebook and pen. Reacting differently than she thought.

"You theorized that there could be one that is unlike any other with abilities. One that can have-" she jumped high off her seat along with a surprise jolt from Peter, who now stood before the desk. Mohinder had slammed his fist on the table.

An excited stare marking childish wonder invaded his once serious gaze. "My god! You're the one! The one I've been searching for this entire time. And here you are, sitting right before me," he shook his head, cupping his hands over his nose. Squeezing with excitement it looked. "You have extraordinary abilities, more so than anyone with them?"

She nodded, looking nowhere else. But why was she nodding? Was this true? Did she?

"You feel trapped by them but are free in the same instant. You are split between two worlds-"

She kept nodding as though she knew what he was-

"Two men."

She stopped.

Peter didn't.

"No Mohinder, she's not who you're talking about. She doesn't have two, she has one-"

"What are you talking about? Of course it's her, it has to be-"

"It's not!"

"Peter, please-"

"No Lynée, the only reason I brought you here- Mohinder, I brought her to _you_ so you could give sense to all of this, to help her understand it's meaning. I'm her inamorati. This is why we're here. You know this. Our last meeting-"

"This, this is the woman you were-"

"Yes."

"But she's-"

"She doesn't know what she is. What she means."

"What do I mean?" she couldn't get in until now. She watched as Mohinder faded into disappointment, Peter was growing aggressive and she wanted what she came here for. If this doctor knew so much about the Unbroken then he should tell her what she needs to know about her powers, why these men are here, for her.

"He can't tell you what you feel Lynée," Peter answered without truly doing so.

She needed to know beneath their hidden meaning. Before she's sent into another tug-a-war between these men. Into one's possession only to be ripped into another before anything could be understood. She wanted him to tell her how to fix this. This feeling of hopelessness exists only because of this idea, this theory which seemed to be true to everyone except her. But how and why?

"Then why are we here!" she needs to stop, she's getting angry. More resentful. This was not helping. They weren't helping. "

"He's done the same thing for me."

"What?"

"He led me to you. Helped me find you. We're here so he can do the same, for you."

They stared. Peter broke, and looked to Mohinder who already knew what he had to do.

"He's right. I can help but I need to understand. Just like you. Trust is what I'm asking for. If you are willing, I would like to ask a question. Just one. I know what you believe, Peter, but I need to ask her, for my own inquiry. May I, Lynée?"

She nodded, looking to no one. She didn't like this but had nothing else.

"Who is this other person that, you believe, may or may not share your _connection_?"

No.

Peter tensed, physically in body and flaming in mind, she was worst. But he spoke contrary.

"It's alright, you can tell him," Peter moved around the table, stood to her side and almost resembled a warning for the ignorant doctor who took no notice.

"Sylar," she spoke too soon. "I never learned of his last name, if there-"

"Gray," Mohinder spat.

"I'm sorry?"

"His name is Gabriel Gray, his alias is Sylar, a previous watchmaker, current killer," he threw his notebook across the table.

Peter moved slow but situated her closer. A precaution. This was how he expected yet it seemed to be going wrong. "Mohinder?"

"Why, Peter? Why!" he was losing the comfort.

"You know why. She wanted to come here."

"That's not what I meant! You think this is safe now? You think he doesn't know where you are? Get out!"

Why would he do this? Why would he move into this altered persona just by the mention of a name? Was Sylar truly what Peter had told her to be?

"What do you mean?" she interjected but already knew. Another useless question. She couldn't find herself.

"Do you truly not understand? If he is, in fact, yours, he will feel you here. He will know where you are, where you sleep, where you breathe," he looked back to Peter. "You want to protect her? You want her to be yours? You've already lost."


	8. Volume 8: What Lies Beneath

_**.**_

_**Volume 8**_

_**What Lies Beneath**_

In a dark room, with maroon curtains so thick no light escaped through, was a chair. Dark cracked leather framed in rich mahogany wood. A black head rose above, hair short upon the neck, heightened on top. He sat, poised, staring ahead between him and the wall. He was calculating.

Calculating whether to enter the room. The room where he could smell her hair, her essence more strongly than where he was now, someone's dark vacant office. Someone who obviously had problems with sunlight. But the thick curtains eased his fretful mind. Sylar leaned over, elbows painfully supporting his chin. Their sharp ends puncturing his lean legs as he lets his head rest fully into his hands. He didn't care for the pain.

Her aura consumed his sore bod. Her vibrant energy giving him the excuse to stay in the comfortable chair just a moment longer. He loved her. This was no lie. He had never been more clear on anything save for her. She was all he needed to survive. And she was there, with Peter.

And someone else as well. The way he felt her tighten by the sound of objects being thrown. Not by Peter. No, he held her along his side. He should know that nothing can keep him at bay. Nothing.

Finally, the trigger he's been waiting for. He bolted from the chair, kicked the door from its hinge and charged the hall.

.

Peter, with unchallenged determination, threw Mohinder against the wall. Lynée, still in the same position, clung hard to her chest, heaving in lost breaths.

"What's wrong with you!" Peter hurled his fists on either side of the doctor, entrapping his movements.

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with _you_ Peter!"

"You shouldn't have done that Mohinder-"

"Back off-"

"You want to go after someone, you go after me, not her. We're leaving," he thrust his arm aside, pushed away and nearly jumped him again just for satisfaction. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, softly covering her neck, the sudden pain still molding along her skin. She didn't understand, it was a name, just a name yet had this kind doctor attack her. By the throat! Peter removed her hold and examined himself. She could speak but had no will or knowledge to. He met her gaze, nodding for clarification. She did, again, it wasn't as bad as it seemed, for her.

"That's my girl," again he stood before them. Sylar, the mere presence of his entity struck a barrier deep within the laboratory. She wasn't ready and wouldn't be, not again.

Mohinder traveled along the wall, grasping the harness of his bookshelves filled with genetics and scientific answers. There were none, none of safety or completion. Peter stood no different, he had wanted to look tall, strong and ready but he wasn't. This couldn't go on. Lynée knew nothing of her being. There was such evil that encompassed this man. It made her heart sick.

"Dr. Suresh," Sylar flickered to his old foe. "So it's your tantrum that I have to thank. How interesting."

"Don't be here Sylar," Peter dragged his attention upon him, noting the few exits, the lack of strength.

"He only came to take what's his," Lynée spoke with ease yet her gaze was wildly confused. Why had she said this? The voice was hers yet meaning wasn't. She gaze deep into Sylar, knowing already by the intensity of his own.

"Well, it's true you know," he laughed once, then took the first lunge.

Peter lunged forward as well, too repetitious to not be tiresome, this was different. There was another who influenced the fight. Mohinder summoned incredibly strength and slammed Peter into the bookcase.

"Get off of me!"

"Damn it Peter, she's not worth this," he held him there, strong, abnormally so. Peter grabbed his forearm and ignited his own with flame. But gave no reaction.

"Such a couple you would make, thank you Doctor. We will be leaving on your good favor," Sylar felt the warm enclosure of his hand pressed deeply against her Lynée's stomach. Being this close brought on such things. "Shall we?"

There was no answer, she was their object of movable desires whether she accepts this or not. One thing must be said. "Peter," she called. He had already been on her. An angry, fierce and unreliable tear came yet stayed within its purpose. "I love you," and with that, Sylar moved his possession strictly onto her hips. The tempered heat melting both his and hers.

"You're not going anywhere," Peter struggled briefly with Mohinder yet his voice broke several notes.

"I have to," she did, though the reasoning was far from anything.

Sylar fit in perfect unity into her, readying their escape for the final time.

"Lynée," Peter panicked. He can't get her back, not if she's taken again. The strength won't be enough. Being without her will weaken him more than she will ever know. "You can't go with him."

She shook her head, looking to Sylar yet speaking to Peter. "You'll understand, Peter. I promise you will." She lost as well, the few building tears broke and molded into violent sobbing. Sylar merely steadied her after the roof exploded from his mastery, pieces of the wall crumbling around them like rain.

It was one last command, one last instant of understanding that only she and Peter would know. He shout it, loud enough to make it complete and quite enough to have it mean.

"Go to sleep!"

They were gone and he was alone.

Flying again in his arms, the tear of the wind in her hair didn't even seem to bother her anymore, its rushing barely noticeable to her ears. His face was always set in stone. That stiff lined nose, his dark-set gaze veiled in a sea of black eyelashes and brows, and his lips framed by his carelessly unshaven chin, could never be forgotten, could never leave her mind. And yet it must. It must if she could ever make her way back to Peter, if her will was as strong as it could be.

They did not land on that steep rock face that overlooked the desert filled with red sand and sporadic cacti. Instead they landed in the last place Lynée ever expected. Her apartment.

They were back in New York, where it all started, the dreams, the fire, everything. Ever since she moved from that town filled with trees and fields and house, where she never knew who else was out there. She had become someone, something new. He had brought her back to this place where her destiny formed, and maybe now will end.

_a / n_

_Yea I know, it was an urge, a call of fate and I answered it. Nonetheless, it's here and Milo and Zachary overcame my thoughts, again. Sigh._


End file.
